Humanity's Requiem
by Ithilas
Summary: MovieVerse The light offers protection from the dark, it illuminates the path before us and helps us find our way when we fall.
1. Humanity's Requiem

Humanity's Requiem

Summary: Memories of a time long past. Memories of a humanity that slipped away like the sands of time in an hour glass. Memories of a light that remains hidden until the day comes that the darkness is gone.

He'd been fighting for so long that sometimes he had to strain to remember the way a clear summer day looked like. Or even to remember what it was like to sleep in a bed that didn't shake with the force of the bombs being dropped only miles away, their concussive blasts traveling through the earth with enough force that some nights he was certain that the roof above would fall. But it didn't and he was allowed to wake in time for his shift at patrol rounds or whatever it was he'd been assigned to for that shift.

The war had been going for so long that sometimes he wondered if he would ever truly see the war's conclusion. It was on those days that he would recall with a rueful chuckle all of the dreams he'd held as a naïve teen. The dreams that he would pursue his interests in science, with his parents and the rest of his family gathered around him as he proudly took his first steps into the real world. Instead his first steps had been taken alone, down a rubble strewn street with missiles screaming overhead and the sounds of panic ringing in his ears as clearly as any bell ever had.

Of all the things he remembered from his former life, those were among the clearest memories he still possessed. The feeling of leaving behind the young and frightened child to become the man standing defiantly on the edge of a building, arms clutching tightly to a cube of life while optics darkened with hate and rage glared down at him like a vengeful demon from mythology. And in spite of the fear threatening to rob him of all his thoughts, he'd somehow managed to remain calm enough to refuse the offer that might have saved his humanity.

But whenever he had that thought, he would shake his head with the rationalization that either way that day his humanity would have been lost. He would have become a monster in much the same manner as the beast confronting him with his own fragile mortality. He would have condemned the innocent to a fate worse than the one promised to him if he refused and in the darkest of hours he would cling to that thought like a dying man would to the hand of a healer above him.

No, no… much better that he allow himself to fall to a dream of unending terror and pain than to abandon those precious few that had called out to him in desperation. Because where they were the light still retained in the never-ending horror that was his life, he had become the darkness to protect them. After all, what better to hide the light than the inky refuge that the darkness could become? And the darkness is what he had become, he would think with a weary sigh still remembered by a body no longer capable of producing the sound naturally.

He had become the very thing that he once feared more than any other thing in his very young life. His hands were stained with the life of others, a stain that threatened to rob him of his very sanity were it not for the constant warmth of innocence he still retained. Because in the silence he would fall to his knees, clasp his hands in front of him as though in prayer and would weep tears that had mercifully been allowed to him. A reminder of the youthful essence that he had once been and of the hardened shell of existence that he had become.

Only a handful of those he fought with knew of the tears that would stain his face with glistening streaks of shimmering sapphire. Warm arms would wrap around his slender frame and a voice would whisper soothing nonsense into his ears until he succumbed to sleep and was carried to his bed with infinite care and patience. Only those few truly knew the depths of his sacrifice and of how steadfast he remained in his devotion to a motto that had once belonged to a youth that could scarcely comprehend its true meaning.

The few with whom he shared his secret could be called upon in his most vulnerable of moments and he knew, without any of the doubt that festered in his heart, that they would answer and would never speak of it to anyone. Just as he would and had done himself. How many times had he grasped a hand firmly within his own smaller one, preventing an injury meant to show that in spite of the numbness felt inside that they were still capable of pain? And how many times had he been stopped from his own foolishness in an attempt to redeem himself from the darkness that stained him? The darkness that he alone seemed to see when no one else could or would?

Those that he had stood with at the beginning of it had slowly drifted away from him, unable to withstand the guilt as his innocence and youthful light were replaced by the resigned understanding that only war was capable of giving. But those he stood beside now were of the same darkness as he and shared with him the understanding that only the Matrix's call would separate them. Will, Maggie, Mikaela, Epps and Glen were no longer beside him to fight, but their fight was carried on in the will of their descendants. And while he was no longer Samuel James Witwicky, son of Ron and Judy Witwicky… he carried with him their memory and the memory of their sacrifice. For even when the day came that the darkness was overwhelmed and he was allowed to be cleansed of the sins he carried, he would still remember and he would do so with a fierce pride that nearly overrode any other emotion he could still feel.

"Spike."

Glancing up from where he was reclining on the recharge berth he shared with his mate, Spike saved the latest entry he'd made onto the data pad before subspacing it. The barest hint of smile tugged at his lips while his optics sparkled merrily at the silver mech standing in the doorway leading to their quarters. "Jazz." He breathed the name, his Spark euphoric as it welcomed its other half with a joyous swell of warmth. "You're back."

Blue limbs untangled with an easy grace as he rose to his full height of thirteen feet as he crossed the few feet necessary to throw himself into waiting arms. "I was beginning to get worried when you didn't come back by the time you'd said in your last transmission." He murmured into the warm chassis that covered the Spark he'd joined himself to with no regret when asked.

"I know," Jazz answered, "that's th' reason I made sure to stop by here before I headed off to go an' see Ratch."

Pulling back to scrutinize the silver frame that he knew as well as his own, Spike took in the splatters of dried energon that he knew without being told was not solely Jazz's own. "You'd better get going then if you want to spend any time together before I have to leave." He finally said as he looked up to meet the uncovered optics of his mate as he pressed one sapphire colored hand to a silver hued cheek affectionately.

"Fraggit Spike." Jazz swore even as he leaned into the hand pressed against his cheek, his face moving to press a soft kiss into the lighter colored palm. "I thought tha' ya weren't gonna accept th' mission."

"If I don't go," Spike replied quietly, "then they'll send Bee. And you and I both know that he's a good spy. Great even, but he's no assassin."

"And neither are you." Jazz whispered fiercely, his arms tightening around the slender frame held in his arms. "We all do wha' we gotta do. An' sometimes we get called to do things tha' we'd never do if it weren't war."

"I know that, Jazz." Spike said evenly, his optics dimming as he rested his helm against the shoulder of the slightly taller mech holding him. "But war doesn't change what I do or the fact that I'm good at it. I sneak in and kill people before leaving. Most people I know would call that being an assassin. Now you'd better get going before Ratch comes down here to see what's taking you so long."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm goin'." Jazz groaned as he reluctantly pulled away from his bond mate, staring down into stunning blue optics before bringing his visor back down to cover his own. "Ya better still be here when I get back."

"I will." Spike promised with a noticeable smile as lips brushed his in a tender kiss. "I still remember what happened the last time I left before you got back. Of course it's kinda hard to forget the stunned expression on Ratch's face when he walked in here looking for me."

Jazz's only answer was a low chuckle as the silver mech turned and left their quarters to head towards the med bay and an impatient CMO. Returning to the berth he'd been sitting on Spike pulled his datapad back out of subspace, staring at it for long moments before beginning to write.

Someday this war would end he'd think with a hope that at times seemed so foreign to him. The war would end and the darkness that he'd allowed to cover him would be forced away by the light. And then perhaps… perhaps then, he would be allowed to tell the greatest secret that he carried with him. The secret of what really happened to the youth that day in a city torn apart by a war not of its own making. The secret of where the cube so full of life truly went. And the reason that he lost his humanity that day… the humanity that had been replaced by the Spark filled existence he now led. Yes, someday the war would end and the Allspark would be allowed to create life instead of ending it.

Do NOT ask me where the fragging hell this came from. It's been a rabid plot bunny that's been haunting me for the past week and a half. I've been trying to ignore it, hoping that it would give up… but no, tenacious little fragger that it is refused to leave me alone. So here it is, Sam/Jazz post Mission City thingy that I never thought I would ever write but have. I actually like it now that it's out of my head and onto the computer screen. And who knows… maybe you guys'll like it too.


	2. Silent Reverie

Silent Reverie

VoX

Summary: Dreams and hope light the path that becomes our future. Paths that can change from steady, straight ones into those lined with sharp curves that veer away from the intended destination. And dreams and hopes that were once our light become the ashes beneath our feet.

VoX

No child ever dreams of war and death becoming an integral part of their future. They never dream of the day when trembling hands are held steady by hands heavy with the weight of experience. They hope for lives where they are comfortable with the more ambitious dreams of becoming more than just another face within a sea. The monsters that stalk the shadows are only inventions of a mind overwhelmed with imagination. There is no need to be shown the fastest way to remove a threat or even how to clear sleep from the mind before the body is even fully aware. Life is filled with the peace of youthful innocence and sometimes… sometimes he can remember that.

He can remember a life without the feeling of the hard ground rushing up to meet him as the sharp sting of laser fire pierces a hole through an already hurt body. He can remember a life where he woke in the night to the melodious notes of wind chimes being carried through the wind. A life where fevers and illness kept him in bed rather than injuries tended to by rushed hands eager to move to the next patient. A life where he was simply nobody with dreams of one day becoming somebody in his chosen path in life.

But instead he's a child in a world devoid of children. A child forced to leave behind the memories of another life as the fires of a war burn brightly and threaten to leave ash of everything he once knew and loved. The park with its merry-go-round is now gone as is the school he'd once hoped to attend. Destroyed by war fought not for his control but rather for what he holds within. Darkness can cover only so much before the light's rays become stronger than the inky depths that surround.

Days of playing have become days of training where his body is moved gently into the correct positions as he struggles through a body still so unfamiliar. Voice gone quiet from the weight of the gazes filled with so much sadness and regret as they rest upon his slender frame. The days become months and the months become years and still he struggled to accept what fate has handed him. Or maybe… maybe he struggles not to accept but rather he struggles so that he doesn't fail.

On a clear spring day he knew what the price of failure meant and the price hasn't lessened any. He knew they thought him too innocent or naïve to understand the importance of the task given to him. They thought he didn't know that truly were worse things than death. And sometimes… sometimes he dreams of what could have happened if he'd been just a little slower or just a little less scared. Dreams filled with a world consumed in smoke and ash haunt his sleeping world as ruby eyes follow him.

With one small misstep so much can go wrong. And maybe that's why he dreams. He dreams so that he won't forget… so that he won't forget what price comes with becoming somebody rather than nobody. The price isn't being alone or even living to watch as all that connected you to a life now gone gives in to the unrelenting pressures of time. The price is the sacrifice of an innocence built of glass that shatters under the stones cast by war as the jagged edges bury deep into flesh leaving thin rivulets of blood to form a crimson trail.

And his innocence is a small price to pay, he thinks to himself with a far away look to his eyes. Such a small price paid to protect what remains of an innocence belonging to those forced to watch the atrocities committed all for the sake of their control. He can soothe their cries and their fears with the same tender words that a mother may use to comfort a frightened child crying in the night about the monster under the bed. Only… only their monsters are real and far more dangerous than any invention ever dreamed by the human mind.

He can be their protector because he's found his own. He's found them in the ones that bring data pads full of information that once would have made no sense to him. The ones who wait patiently at the entrance of the city waiting for him to return and with gentle hands guide him to bed like an errant child out past curfew. They do it holding no expectations of him but that he will do the same for them.

They are the family belonging to his new life after the family of his past fell prey to time. They are the ones he can, will and has killed for. And sometimes, he muses as he looks around the faces surrounding him, he wonders if maybe their bonds are stronger than any forged through shared blood. They hold him steady as he walks a line that seems to have grown thinner as the years go by and the weight of his burden increases. And maybe… maybe it's because of them that the price paid no longer seems to matter as he finds himself able to laugh.

They are the family that will protect him when one day he's caught within the web of elaborate lies and half truths he's created with more dedication than any spider. But there are still things that even they can't protect him from. They can't protect him from the cold that pierces through him with the strength of the arctic winds as he's forced to remember the slow realization that he was alone. Alone because by either death or choice, he was left to fight the demons that flaunted his deepest and most hidden fears.

Fears that he would wake to find that he was no longer hidden within the darkness but had changed instead to become the darkness. Fears of a world where strength gave way to silken promises whispered from the depths of a deceptive darkness. Fears of a life filled with the scarlet glow of hate filled eyes.

"Tell me where it is and the pain will stop."

Dim blue optics glared up at the large mech while leaking energon pooled painfully into intake valves. "Haven't we already," Spike paused to spit out another mouthful of energon onto the rapidly growing pool surrounding him, "talked about this? I don't know where it is."

"Foolish little Autobot." Megatron purred as he ran one clawed finger over the dented surface of the blue mech's helm. "If you persist your friends will find nothing more than a broken pile of scrap."

"Better a pile of scrap than a traitor." Spike replied with a defiant tilt of his helm as he spat a mouthful of energon into the Decepticon's face. "Autobots have honor which is a concept I'm sure you know nothing about." Audios ringing from the blow his actions received Spike offlined his optics as the world spun around him in a dizzying whirl of color. He was an idiot, he thought wearily, Jazz had warned him that something felt off about the mission but he'd still gone.

"Even the strongest will can be made to break," Megatron commented idly as he nudged the blue mech's side with a foot. "This stubborn defiance will earn nothing but pain. The Autobots have the Allspark in their possession and I want to know where."

"It was destroyed," Spike gasped out weakly while his systems were sending new warnings to his processor in regards to his rapidly falling energon levels. "It was destroyed like you should have been."

"Such lies." Megatron murmured silkily as he stared down at the fading optics of the bound mech. "One might almost think that you held belief in them. Such actions along with your… field of expertise could have made you a brilliant Decepticon were you not so taken by the weakness of the Autobots."

Unable to ignore the rapidly populating windows appearing in his field of vision warning him of imminent stasis lock, Spike was only able to shake his head in response. As he felt the first of his systems beginning the process of stasis lock he thought he felt a slight tremor resonating through the ground beneath him. Fighting his sluggish systems he quickly activated the virus inserted into his memory banks after his first mission. Secure in the knowledge that the virus would eat through the files at the first sign of outside attempts to gain entry the blue mech surrendered to the insistent prompts from his processor for shut down.

And then he would remember… he would remember the promise he'd made to himself so many years before after he'd awoken to find himself lying in the street with a body not his own. He'd sworn to keep the resolve that had led to a new life being created for him. The time for second thoughts had come and gone and with it the chance that he would fall into the darkness that lurked around him like a lion stalking its prey. He knew how much rested on a single choice… a choice that could hold more than one result in the end. He knew and in the end he supposed that it no longer really mattered. He'd made a choice as a man and for it he'd been turned back into a child; a child that acted as a ray of light in a world where there was so little of it.

VoX

My deepest thanks to Gaylarain for helping me get this chapter done. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I liked writing it once I finally got past my stupid mental blocks.


	3. Lament of Rebirth

Lament of Rebirth

VoX

Summary: The light offers protection from the dark, it illuminates the path before us and helps us find our way when we fall.

VoX

Most nightmares were comprised of the darkness or rather of the unknown that took refuge there. His nightmares since his rebirth had always been of slender tendrils of light wrapping around his wrists before the gentle grip turned harsh as he tried to step back. There's always the fear; the heart-pounding fear that seems as though _it_ will steal his life far before the light will have opportunity to do so. Then there are the softly-worded pleas that turn to hysterical screams once the pain starts and he realizes that his rescue was naught more than a cleverly disguised trap. He watches those he once called friends and realizes that they really have no concept of the horrors that the light can conceal as well as any patch of darkness ever could.

But he supposes that it might be better that way. Because then they hold no knowledge of the way that screams can echo along the streams of light that are burrowing into his skin with all the finesse of an earthworm tunneling through the ground. They haven't born reluctant witness to the way that skin can be peeled away like nothing more than superfluous additions to his form. There is so much that they don't know, he muses quietly to himself as blue eyes track the movements of those nearest to him, and how much of it is unknown simply because they know they do not want to know the answers?

He remembers well the looks of confusion when he first awoke screaming in remembrance of the pain that seemed to be stealing away pieces of his sanity bit by torturous bit. He knows that they expected him to revel in the possibilities of his new form rather than lament the unexplored avenues that his old one had held. But it was to be expected of those who for all their wisdom could scarcely comprehend that this had not been done to him with his permission. For months that seemed to pass without end he was treated as the child his frame designated him as with his only peace being found in the presence of those who truly understood what he had lost.

It was a wonder he hadn't become insane. It was a wonder that on the day he contemplated running that he was granted clemency in the silver form that stared down at him for countless seconds of time before kneeling before him and speaking. His savior who had looked at him and seen all that the others had refused to see in the hopes that they might escape the guilt that would otherwise haunt them. He'd taken the clawed hand offered him and for the first time since his rebirth had ventured out into the light without the nigh overwhelming fear that his life would be stolen from him.

The soft, melodious voice that coaxed him out of the nightmares that gripped his subconscious was the same voice that had risen in anger to defend him. It was the same voice that had calmly and patiently walked him through the steps of a dance that he did not know but would one day know the steps to without pausing for thought. And for all that the light had taken from him, he thought with not a little bit of irony, it had made up for in the form of his savior. His savior who for a time did all he could to coax smiles from reluctant lips and even rarer laughs from a vocalizer nearly rusted from disuse.

And when the time came for those he held dear to pass into the Matrix without him, those same silver claws had held tightly to his struggling form as he finally gave voice to the pain and grief hidden from even his own mind. It was then that he decided to release the last of his anger against a group of innocents that had done what needed to be done in order to ensure their own survival. He chose to follow in the footsteps of his savior and ignore the disapproving glances from the others because they had stood by and watched him fall while his savior had offered the help needed to stand once again.

He knew they wondered at the depths of his devotion to a mech so unlike themselves and there were times that he wondered if perhaps his choice would have been different if things had not happened as they had. But thoughts are only thoughts and he paid no further mind to things that were not of the here and now. He knew the reasons for his actions even if it took time for him to realize that the emotions driving them were changing. Feelings of devotion and hero-worship were carefully supplanted by deeper feelings of friendship and love. And those, he decided, were worth far more to him than any thoughts of a different world where the harshness of the light remained hidden by the deceptive folds of darkness.

DoX

Waiting was one of the worst things that any mech could ask of him. Pacing the floor of the hallway leading to the med bay as he continued to throw anxious glances towards the doors through which frantic shouts could still be heard, Jazz sank into a crouch with his back leaning against the wall. Resting his forearms against the armor of his thighs, the silver mech allowed his helm to hang in the small bubble of privacy created. He forced his air cycles to remain steady instead of hitching at the memory of blue torn into pieces so unrecognizable that it had taken the insistence of his Spark to recognize the battered frame of his bonded.

Cradling his helm with his claws digging gouges into the reinforced metal, Jazz allowed the pain to shock him back from the cycle of memories flowing through his processor. Dimming his visor as he allowed his hands to fall back to his sides and lifting his helm up towards the ceiling, he amplified his audios. Taking small comfort in the sounds of Ratchet's bellows over the quieter shouts from First Aid and Swoop, Jazz tilted his head to the side questioningly as he felt the soft displacement of air beside him.

"There's not much th' Hatchet can't fix, you know?" Sideswipe said softly, his own helm slanted to the side as watchful blue optics noted the slower approach of his twin and Bluestreak. "And I don't figure that Spike's come this far to just up and quit on us now." Shaking his helm in fond exasperation at the silent mech beside him, Sideswipe moved into a more comfortable position with one knee bent and pulled towards his torso while the other leg lay extended in the hall. "It's not your fault."

"I gave 'im th' mission." Jazz retorted without any real heat behind the words. "Ya think Prime makes a point o' givin' my mechs missions?"

"Are you still going on about that stupid load of slag?" Sunstreaker asked derisively before sprawling himself on the floor in front of Sideswipe after carefully placing a piece of cloth beneath him to prevent any scratching. "Your _feelings_ don't mean anything when you've got a bunch of information telling you otherwise unless you're going to tell me that you didn't train him to do his job right."

"Tha' ain't what I said."

"I don't think you're giving Spike the credit he deserves," Bluestreak said thoughtfully from his spot next to Sunstreaker. "Even if he's sneaky and cheats, even Ironhide says that there aren't many mechs out there who take Spike out."

"I tol' 'im that I didn't 'ave a good feelin' 'bout this an' I still let 'im go." Jazz whispered brokenly, his air cycles shaky as the mech lifted trembling hands to press hard against his visor. "I shoulda tol' 'im to let 'Bee go or somethin'."

"You're honestly glitched if you think that." Sideswipe said with laughter clinging to his voice as he stretched one arm out to rest lightly on his knee. "We've got a spy that sold out Spike and you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."

"Ya think I ain't realized tha' yet?" The saboteur's voice was low as his hands slowly lowered to the floor to brace his body as he sank down onto the cool flooring. "Mission came in from Cybertron an' ain't no one figurin' out yet where th' info came from. We got ourselves a leak somewhere."

Exchanging glances with his twin and Bluestreak, Sideswipe nodded before leaning to the side and slinging an arm over Jazz's shoulder. "Don't think this means I won't tell Spike." Smirking in satisfaction when his friend's laughter bounced off the hallways, Sideswipe turned his gaze back down towards the scuffed flooring as the burning feeling of anger banked itself in time with the doors of the med bay sliding open.

A/N: Nine months to update isn't too bad, right?


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